


Abandoning hope

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt No Comfort, Kinky/Squicky Pairings, M/M, Multi, Rape, Torture, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by EnideTaking the wrong route, the fellowship ends up in deep trouble in the hands of Saruman.
Kudos: 3
Collections: Least Expected





	Abandoning hope

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Of course i do not own any of them
> 
> Story Notes: This is a cruel, evil, violent and dark story. Those of you who expected another "Bath"- fic, turn around. Now you are warned - only continue if you think you can stomach it. And please do not kill me.

I had never thought I would experience such wild feelings of triumph; not that I ever doubted my ability to fulfil my bargain with Sauron. Yet the wave of self-righteous pride that surged through me when I finally saw my old enemy, captured and bound, his mission failed as I knew it would, almost made me laugh out loud. My Uruk-hais had captured all the nine of their pathetic fellowship close to the Gap of Rohan, not many miles from my own Orthanc. They must have thought they could sneak by, but the crebains spotted them, and then it was just a matter of time until they were here, brought in front of me in one of the uppermost rooms of my black tower. They looked about as miserable as they deserved - arrogant bastards to think they could actually stand up against Sauron, but now they where in various states of despair and fright; the Uruk-hais had beaten them up a bit, but not to much; not compared to what waited them once Sauron knew they were here and I turned them over to Him. - So. I wandered down the row of my prisoners, unarmed and with there arms bound behind there backs, each one with an Uruk- hai standing behind and holding them back, they looked a pathetic and helpless lot. I let my heavy metal staff drag along their chests, bouncing on their ribs. - One elf, four hobbits, a dwarf and two men. Was this the best you could conjure up, Gandalf? Was _this_ the ones you thought could outmaster Sauron himself? You were ever such a fool.

I stopped in front of him, pushing his head up with the staff, forcing him to meet my eyes, to see the total failure he had led his mission to. I had expected to se despair in his eyes, but he never did know when he was defeated, and his eyes still gleamed with hope.  
\- If you listen to the words of the Dark Lord, you are the fool, Saruman, he said as defiant and arrogant as ever. You do not really think he will let you live after he have the Ring in his power again? He will squash you like the insignificant insect you are to him. But there is still time to turn the tide! Your faults can still be mended. Help us destroy the Ring, and you will still be one of the most powerful people in the world... - Silence! I swung my staff around, bringing it down heavy on the side of his head; he staggered and would have fallen if not the Uruk-hai behind him had held him up. A large red gash appeared over his ear, blood started welling down. I was slightly surprised that the strike did not kill him, or at least rendered him unconscious, but at least I got the pleasure of seeing a flash of fear and pain in his eyes. A wave of upset shouts and desperate attempts to break free went through the rest of the fellowship, but was quickly and rather brutally subdued by the Uruk-hais. I ignored them. - Your idea of a Ringbearer was doomed to fail from the start, old fool. I revelled in the fear in his eyes; I do not think he had realised before what kind of danger he was really in. Who did you think you could fool with this little parade of species anyway? I have known whom he was since first I set eyes on your pathetic fellowship. You are not very subtle, are you Gand*alf*?  
I saw the surprise in his eyes and it really annoyed me. How stupid did he hold me to be? Without as much as granting him another look, I turned and walked to the other end of the prison row, past the men and the dwarf. The four hobbits recoiled when I walked past them, their obvious fear giving new fire to my warm sense of triumph. Why should I bother how daft Gandalf thought me to be? He was here and could do nothing but watch helplessly as I took the Ring. In the end I had turned out the winner. I stopped in front of the person last in the row, and saw the same glimmer of surprise in his eyes, blue as a summer sky. Did they all take me for a fool? Well, who was the fool now? - Give it to me, I demanded. Or I will be forced to take it. - I can not stop you from taking anything now, but you will never find me giving you anything either. - Really? I could not stop myself from laughing at his innocence. It was such a thrill, to have the Ringbearer here, in front of me, at the mercy of my every whim. The potentially most powerful being on Middle Earth, and now he could not even reach his treasure.  
It was an extremely arousing situation, and it did not get any worse by the fact that he was an elf. I have made the study of the twenty Rings of power my life's work, and with the obvious exception of the One Ring, the three Rings of the Elves always fascinated me the most, as did their people. Without comparison they are the strongest, proudest and wises of all people, and to hide the attraction I felt for them, and attraction as close to possessiveness as my want for their Rings, was never easy. Yet I had to hide it, to ignore my feelings and never even make an attempt to get what I wanted, for if Galadriel or Elrond ever found out they would lead all of their people in a war against me. I always wanted power, ultimate power, over individuals as well as the world, and this is the hidden core in me, the one I have hidden under endless years. But the time of restrictions was over; never again would I have to repress my desires. The elf recoiled and tried to back away when I pushed my hands under his tunic and shirt, but he could not get away with the Uruk-hai standing behind him, holding him down. The Uruk-hais, children of my own mind, started to leer and shout as my hands found their way over the firm muscles of the elf's chest, the perfect, unblemished skin, and the nipples, soft as velvet buttons under my fingers and nails. Their shouts got even more lecherous and taunting when he vainly tried to break free or move away, repulsion clear in his fair face, but it did nothing to lessen my appetite, if anything it roused it even more. - No secret pockets on your clothes, I mumbled with my face so close to his that I forces him to breath in my air, no chain around your neck. Now, where can it be? He suddenly got very still when I shoved my hands down his trousers, and his eyes got very large with a new fear and bewilderment. The exhilarating feeling of smooth flesh under my hands were starting to have an effect on me, and he must have felt it, the way I was pressing up on him. I let a long finger, sharp with my pointy nails, penetrate him and for a second I almost thought he should attack me; a wild red rage flashing in his eyes. But he did not, of course; how could he? Terrified and shocked, his friends were in the very same room, watching me have my ways with him with expressions ranging from outraged to almost ready to cry out of helpless frustration and fear. I saw cold murder in the Men's faces, a deepening understanding and fear in Gandalfs, tear-filled terror in the hobbits, and raw, unhidden rage in the Dwarf's. Even if the elf managed to somehow get free and kill me, the Urukhais would butcher them all before he even had time to turn around. He would care to much about them to let that happen, Ring or not, that much was clear in his eyes. And that was a weakness I would exploit. It was really to good an opportunity to let pass; Sauron could know about the Ring tomorrow. I would have some fun first, and He would never know.  
Desire was burning red and hot in me, but it was even more than that; this would be revenge for all thing I had had to refrain from, and it would also be the ultimate proof of my triumph over Gandalf. Let's see if he could save his precious Ringbearer from the doom that waited him now. - Get down on your knees, I commanded with my voice thick of desire. He spat out a few crude words of defiance and denial that he must have heard from the dwarf. I turned to the closest Uruk-hai, whom had one of the small, insignificant hobbits in front of him. - Kill him, I said flatly with a gesture to the hobbit who's blue eyes got almost as large as the elf's out of terror. Grinning, the Uruk-hai drew a large dagger, forcing the hobbits head back with a vicious grip in his curly hair. The rest of the fellowship started to cry out, cursing and pleading, thrashing against the unrelenting hold of the uruk-hais. One of the other hobbits - the fat one - actually started crying with fear, and Gandalfs face was a study in terror. In the Ringbearers face was a fair tableau of soul rendering agony; pride and self-respect fighting the genuine concern for his tiny friend.  
\- No! Stop! The elf finally cried out as the dagger closed on his friends throat, his voice overpowering all the other shouting but ridden with angst. Do not kill him! I will do it; just leave him alone! I stopped the Uruk-hai with a small gesture, but the edge of the dagger still glimmered on the hobbits throat and he was almost standing on his toes in an attempt to relieve the savage pull on his hair and the touch of steel on his skin. His face was pale with terror and his breath came in short, small gasps. The elf - the Ringbearer - did not look much better; pale and slightly sickly looking he sank down on his knees on the hard stone floor with the grace that comes so natural to all of his kind. A sudden stillness fell over the room; urukhais and fellowship both trying to accept what they saw. - Saruman...Gandalf started with a voice that sounded very strangled and hesitating, far from his original self, but the elf shot him a glance that killed his words immediately. Instead, Gandalf did the only thing I suppose he felt he could do; he closed his eyes and turned away. One by one, the others in the fellowship did the same. I did not care whether they looked on or not; they were here and there were no way they could ever deny to themselves what was about to happen. I felt almost as if floating on air as I approached the elf again, the surges of triumph and desire and power mixed to an almost unbearable rush. The uruk-hais started shouting and howling again as I grabbed his hair - so smooth and golden in my grasp - and pulled him against me. He almost choked at first, but then the warm smoothness enclosed me. Clever tongue and soft lips, not even a suggestion of teeth - it was apparently not the first time he did this, or maybe he just really made an effort to save his friends life and to get it over with as soon as possibly. I forced his head to please me and from the sounds I could tell that I did not give him much chance to breath, but that was none of my concern. Never before had I experienced such pleasure; never before had I felt such power, with the Ringbearer at my disposal, my enemy helplessly forced to know what I did to him, the Ring of Power so close. The dirty shouts and cheers from the uruk-hais drove me on until I could not take it anymore. - Swallow, or I will kill you all! I panted needlessly, since there were no way he could get away anyway and almost choked him again as I drove deep into his throat. Sated and exhausted I let go of his head; he fell down on the floor by my feet, coughing and retching, curled up as far as he could he tried to desperately wipe his face and mouth on any cloth available. The uruk-hai pulled him upright at my sign, and he recoiled as I lifted a hand to his face, his eyes showing so many feelings; rage, fear, repulsion, humility, that I doubt he himself knew which were the strongest. I let my fingers caress over his cheek, wiped away some of the blood on his chin; his lower lip must have split by my force. -Now, I said rather kindly, will you tell me were you hidden the Ring. - Never! He hissed, but I saw the fear in his eyes. - I almost hoped you would say that, I told him with a smile. That means we will have to spend some more time together, does it not?  
\- Take him up to my private room, I told two of the uruk-hais, and added as I saw the hunger in their eyes; but do not touch him! He is mine, and I swear that I will throw anyone who as much as grabs him to the wargs! I was a bit surprised myself at the force of my words; soon enough I would have to leave him over to Sauron anyway, and when I got the power He promised me I could have anyone - elf or not - that I desired. But sometimes you have to threaten some to get the uruk -hais to really understand. And I most certainly did not want to go where one of them had been before me.

I led the rest up the steep stairs of Isengard; their fury with me warming like a fire. - Have you come to your senses yet Gandalf? I asked smug. Will _you_ tell me where he hidden the Ring if pride forbids him to betray it himself?  
\- And make his sacrifice useless? My old enemy sounded tired and worn down, almost resigned. I could have listened to that all day, if I had not had the Ringbearer waiting downstairs. Right now I just wanted to get the rest of the fellowship securely locked away before I could continue my investigations. The very thought fans the embers of my arousal again.  
\- You think that was a sacrifice? You are almost as nave as he is! I have not even started yet; but do not worry, if he survives the night, I will make sure to send him up here so you can see for yourself what your stubbornness brought upon him.  
I was totally unprepared to what happened next; up filled with the promises for the night and then the reward I would receive once Sauron had the Ring, I paid to little attention to the rest of the fellowship. I heard a roar of fury, and I have only time enough to turn around and see the dwarf break free from his guard, rushing toward me with his ugly face distorted with rage. He crashes into me with the force of a boar, and I lost my balance. My right foot slips of the stair and looses foothold; I can see the long, steep deadly stair stretching out into darkness beneath me like a throat ready to swallow me. For one second I actually thought I would die. Then, just as sudden, my flaying hand gets a hold of something and I can pull my self up, standing steady again. When I turn around I can see that what my hand grasped was Gandalfs arm, still tied behind his back, and still in the firm grip of an uruk-hai who holds him steady against my weight. For a second our eyes meet, and the knowledge that he, however unwilling, saved my life burns like a flame through me. Outraged with fury and the still clinging remnants of death - fear, I let him go and turn to the now again caught dwarf, who is staring up at me, defiance and righteous rage glowing around him like a fire. With one single stroke of my staff I smash his nose, spreading it all over his face. I hit again, and again, blind with a rage fed not only by the attempt to kill me but also the humiliation of being saved by my enemy. Blood splatters all over the fellowship, the walls, the uruk-hais and myself. When I finally get a hold of my self, I doubt anyone but a thick headed dwarf would have survived. Even the urukhais is watching me with something like frightened awe. Panting heavily I draw back, watching my work with some satisfaction; the dwarf's face is a bloody mess, but consciousness is still gleaming in his eyes; there is no escape from the pain for him, nor from the words I know will pain him even more. - It will not be you who pay the ultimate price for this, I swear it! But worry not, now you friend will survive, and I will make certain he knows who is responsible for everything I will put him through! He will live, even when he begs for death! Take them to the top of the tower and lock them in there! I have other things to do! Without another word I turn around and disappear down the stairs.

The two uruk-hais wait with their prisoner in my room; the blood on his lip is already starting to dry but that is easily mended; I throw my staff aside and hit him square over the face with my fist; not even the uruk-hais were prepared for that and they loose their grip. With his hands tied back, he can not keep his balance and he falls heavily to the floor; for the second time he is grovelling at my feet, and I kick him in the ribs, hard. He does not give a sound, and that is infuriating me even more. I will make him scream of pain, beg for mercy. - One of your friends almost killed me. My voice is surprisingly even, but I follow it up with more kicks, to his face, his stomach, his groin. I promised him I would let you pay for it, and so I will! I gesture to the uruk-hais to pull him up and throw him on my bed; the sheets will be bloodied but if he thinks that blood will be the worst thing that smears him tonight he is really naive. I have them tie his arms down to the bedposts, but them I send the uruk-hais out; I do not want any spectators this time. This is strictly between him and me now.  
With his face pressed to the pillows, I can barely see his eyes, but I do not have to; fear is radiating from him even as he tries to repress it. I do not even bother to ask him where the Ring is; this has nothing to do with that. I do not even take of either his clothes or mine, just pull down the trousers of both of us. His face when I penetrate him is a study in agony; the pain he must feel as I am almost tearing him apart. I never use any lubricator, pain being such a sweet spice to pleasure. His jaw muscles are working to contain the scream that must be building inside of him, his eyes are pressed close, and his entire body is stiff as wood as I ride him ruthlessly and without mercy. My high state of fury and arousal makes me come much earlier than I wanted, but it is obvious that it is not early enough for him. That at least calms me slightly. I have not totally forgotten about the Ring either. When I get of him I can feel his gaze follow me across the room, but I ignore it. The uruk-hais have placed the assortments of packing that the fellowship was carrying here, and I search through it carefully. There is nothing; just food and bedrolls and some weapons. The daggers and bow is obvious of elven making, and that gives me an idea. The elf's eyes follow me when return to the bed, one of his long daggers in my hand, but he does not move. Bruises are starting to show on his face, blue and black, and the ropes around his wrists has been cutting in so hard that they are now slick with blood.  
I sit down at the side of the bed, letting the light from a lamp - it is night outside - play over the dagger. - I ask you again. Where is the Ring?  
He does not answer at all, but I had not really expected him to. Instead I turn him around in the bed so that he is now laying on his back; that must have hurt after what I just did, but he does not let it show. His pride and self restrain is going to make this so much more fun.  
When I put the dagger edge at his throat, he almost recoils, but then lies still again. The edge cuts threw the though leather of his tunic like butter and it does not take long before I have freed him from it altogether. Almost carelessly I throw it into the fire at the fireplace; that makes him jump a bit, and the unpleasant smell of burning leather fills the room.  
\- How long do you really think you will be able to resist? I ask almost conversely, while I let my hands caress his body under the silk - like cloth he was wearing under the tunic; its sensual touch and the defined muscles underneath makes my desire rise again but I hold it back for a little longer. - As long as I have to.  
I laugh again, but not mockingly.  
\- You are really young, are you not? You think this is the worst that can happen to you? You have really no conception of what awaits you once you get to Barad-Dr? - I can guess what will happen to you if you report to the Dark Lord that you have the One Ring, and when we arrive, none of us actually have it.  
There is a touch of defiant smugness in his eyes and it annoys me. He really think he can trick me with such an easy lie? I punish him by pinching one of his nipples through the cloth; a sharp pain goes over his face, but as if he reads my mind he continues.  
\- Even after your creatures caught us there would have been ample opportunities to get rid of the cursed thing. Perhaps he is telling the truth; after all, I am not quite sure elves can actually lie. I grab a handful of the silk cloth and rip it asunder; in the fireplace the tunic is nothing but smouldering embers, but there is no glimmer of gold amongst them. I toss the silk in after it, and then I let his footwear go the same way. With only his trousers left I straddle him, and for a short second revel in the way he fights to keep the fear from showing on his face. Again I caress over his chest, now blooming with bruises from my kicks, but as smooth and firm as ever. His arms are still trying to pull loose from the straps around them, but I know how vain those attempts are, so instead I concentrate on the feel of his body underneath me. Now I can take the time I want, waking my arousal slowly and deliciously, and forget to fret about the Ring. That can wait. I let my tongue and lips follow up his flat stomach, over the bruised ribs, towards the nipples and let their velvet taste fill my mouth. When I feel them stiffen I feel a sudden surge of pride; let's see if he can really resist. Exhilarated by this new game I pull of my own clothes, and his pants, and are surprised again when I see that he has already started to react. I give him a smug smile when I straddle him again, caressing him softly but possessively, feeling his body starting to react despite the strain of repressing it that is clear in his face. He refuses to meet my eyes, and not even his breathing changes when I slip my hand down to grab him, even though he is already as hard as I am. His face is twisting between feelings, the ones he tries to repress slipping through his restrain again and again. This is a new kind of torture, in a way even more pleasing than the others, turning his own body against him, but I had not expected it to be so easy. That suggests something that I must think about, but not now, not when my own arousal is starting to grow towards the unbearable. The elf is really as desirable as I ever imagined them to be, the knowledge of power so close making him even more so. Unable to restrain myself anymore, I turn him around again, and penetrate him a second time. In the same moment I can feel him shrinking away, pain and repulsion again taking possession over his features; hurt is obviously not what turned him on, but why should I care about that? I ride him again, but longer now, not as ruthlessly; enough to satisfy my own taste for pain, but slow enough to make it last. And I can make it last for hours.

I think we all on both dreaded and longed for the morning on that cold night on top of Isengards black tower. Aragorn had done what he could for Gimlis destroyed face, washing it with what little water we had left, and sowing some of the worst gashes shut, and then taken care of my own head wound. Poor Gimli endured the treatment without a word or complaint, although he must have been in serious pain. Saruman had not held back. Boromir talked a lot about escaping, but neither him nor Aragorn could find a way to get away. Around us the tower steeped down several hundreds of feet, without any kind of handhold. The only way down was through the stairs, and the doors were heavy and locked, and doubtless just as heavily guarded. And somewhere down there were Legolas, forced to endure what ever Saruman could think of in order to keep the Ring secret. None of us spoke of that, but we all thought of it, and images of what might happen haunted us through the dark night.  
The burden did lie heaviest on Frodo, however, and I do not think he slept anything that night, just sat with Sams arms around him, and stroke the thin line of dried blood that had formed where the uruk-hai had almost cut his throat. So close to the Ring, that one more second and Saruman would doubtlessly have felt it's presence, if Legolas had not sacrificed himself to distract him. The sounds from that are still ringing in my ears, no matter how much I try to block them out.  
It is still hard for me to accept just how much Saruman had changed, from the respected leader of my order, to this power - crazed madman. I suppose he is right; maybe I am naive, but if lack of naivness is what made him what he became, I will not be sorry for it.  
The fate of Legolas however, devastates me. In some strange way, I feel it is my fault. When morning came, we heard the first heavy steps up the stair, and we all came on our feet, tense like bowstrings. A key scraped against the heavy lock, and two or three heavily armed uruk-hais came through the door, followed by several others. The mocking, lecherous sneers on their faces stung like fire, but there were really nothing we could do, unarmed and unprepared. Even Gimli held back when the creatures made their bawdy remarks. Two of them seemed to be carrying a limp form between them, pale and unmoving, and they threw it down just outside the door before they withdrew with a few more mocking calls. As soon as they were gone, we all rushed forward, but for some reason we stopped before we got to close. Legolas was still not moving, laying with his face down on the cold stone; he was naked except for his trousers, and his back was a mass of bruises, but at least it was moving up and down, so he was breathing, and none of the wounds looked serious enough to be unbearable, especially not for an elf. But he lied so still that silent dread crept up on me; had he told Saruman? Was that why he would not meet our eyes? First when I took one step closer and sank down on the ground next to him did I realise that he was whispering; the same phrase came over and over again like a litany. - Do not touch me. Do not touch me. Do not touch me. Horror and understanding hit me then, made me almost cry out in frustration and compassion and rage, but instead I grabbed Gimlis hand as he hesitantly reached out for Legolas, and both he and the rest of the fellowship must have understood what had happened from the look in my eyes. I ushered them back a bit; this was not a got time to be crowding the elf, and we let him come up on his feet by his own. His chest and face had been beaten up, and he moved as if every muscle in his body ached, his usual grace all but gone. But it was not the physical damages that made me feel sick with helplessness. When he finally stood, he was hunched as if he expected to be hit, every trace of pride gone, and he never once met our eyes. The look of haunted despair in his face cut like a knife, and there were traces of fear there that would not go away. With a gesture of compassion that I had not expected from him, Boromir unclasped his heavy cloak and handed it over, careful not to get closer than armlengh's distance. Legolas snapped it from his hand and wrapped it around himself, so hard that we could se the way his body was shaking underneath. The strangled silence that held us all where suddenly broken when Legolas spoke up. - He will send for me again at nightfall. His voice was dead and broken as if he spoke of meaningless things. I will tell him nothing, but after that he will realise that I do not have the Ring. This night he was to...distracted to think straight, but that will not last. Still, that gives you a day and a night to find a way out of here, and escape. Do it. - Oh, my friend. There were tears running down Gimlis cheeks, clear and heavy. It is my fault. I was the one who tried to kill Saruman, otherwise...otherwise this might not have been done to you. Can you ever forgive me? - Only if you try again! A sudden fierceness exploded from Legolas and for a second I think he actually met Gimlis eyes. And again! And again, until you succeed! The burst of anger died away, and the voice became hollow once again. But first, escape this place, continue the quest, and then come back for revenge. - We will escape, all of us. Aragorns voice was ragged with emotions, but Legolas shook his head. - No. Whatever happens tonight, I do not think I will survive it. You _will_ leave me! Do not make my sacrifice be in vain.  
Those last words were directed right at me, and they were such an echo of what I had told Saruman that I could not refuse. I nodded, and it broke my heart.

After that, the day went by all to fast. Legolas went to sit by one of the pillars that shot up from the floor, his face hidden in his arms and Boromirs cloak. We all pretended not to see how much it hurt him to sit down, and instead tried to come up with someway to escape Isengard. Since he wanted to be left alone, we let Legolas sit alone, but when midday started to become afternoon Sam snuggled up next to him, and to my surprise he did not get pushed away, but instead Legolas put out an arm around him, pulling him closer. I think we all forget to give Sam enough appreciation for just how comforting and understanding he is. I am sure he did not mention the ugly red welts around Legolas wrists, wounds that could only had come from ropes. When night came, we still had no better plan than to try to overpower the uruk-hais when they came, and I think we all realised just how impossible that would be. We had not eaten since the day they caught us, and we were unarmed. When we heard the first heavy treads from the stairs, we gathered the hobbits at the far end of the tower roof and prepared best we could. Legolas was looking haggard and tired; I could not help but wonder if he would be more help than any of the hobbits, but I would rather die than hold him back from fighting for his freedom. He had unclasped Boromirs cloak and handed it to Sam, who now stood cradling it in his arms as if trying to get some of that comfort over to Legolas. In the last, grey light of the day, the bruises on the elf's body and face were already starting to fade - elves do heal fast - but in his eyes pain still lay fresh. He looked around at all of us, one last glance, and then said:  
\- Nmarie. Farewell.  
Before any one of us could answer, the door opened. The first uruk-hai stepped through, holding one of those heavy swords and he was grinning savagely. - Saruman want's your arse again, elf-boy...He did not get any further before Gimlis head hit him straight in the stomach, forcing the air from his lounges and almost pushing him down the long stairs again. The dwarf was roaring incoherently, swinging wildly around him, making the door entrance a chaos; Aragorn had ducked under the dwarfs attack and whispered away the sword the first uruk-hai had dropped, but he was not used to neither its weight nor its odd shape, and he and Boromir fought futilely to keep the uruk-hais from gaining entrance. I was supposed to cover the other side of the door, but unarmed and without my staff, there where little I could do. Swearing and fighting the uruks drove us back, step by step. Gimli got another hit in his face, and the pain must have been to much this time; he dropped unconscious. Boromir got an ugly slash over his arm, and a hard sword stroke made Aragorn loose the sword; but the uruks must have received order not to harm us seriously, for although they had plenty of chances, there were no killing strokes.  
I got pushed down, held against the floor under a heavy boot, rendered helpless again, but it was at this time I first got a chance to cast a glance at Legolas. I had thought he had resigned, than he would just wait in his fate like some rabbit when the snakes got its eyes on it. The uruks must have thought something similar. None of us were prepared to what really happened. When I first saw him, two uruks were already laying at his feet, one with its head crushed and the other with a snapped neck. Legolas had not bothered with their cumbersome swords; he fought with his bare hands, and he exploited every opportunity he got from the uruks not daring to kill him. One of them rushed forward and reached out a long, hairy arm to grab him, but the elf was much, much faster and he pulled the uruk forwards, over his outstretched leg, making it loose balance, and the shout of fear as it plunged over the tower roof seemed to last a very long time.  
Moving like a vengeful shadow, his eyes burning with rage, but a cold and concentrated rage, totally unlike the dwarfs and fed by despair and the knowledge that he would die anyway this night he was as terrible an opponent as I have ever seen any of his kind be. For a short while I almost thought he could defeat them all. Of course he could not. Finally, one of the fallen got a hold of his foot, and when he turned around and kicked it in the face with such force that its neck snapped back, another threw itself over him. He tried to shake it of, but another got his legs, and felled him to the ground. Thrashing and still fighting, they lifted him up and swearing tried to carry him down the stairs. The last we saw was the golden hair, casting to and fro like a banner in a wind of war. Then the door was slammed shut.

It took far to long for my uruk-hais to fetch the elf, and I had almost got out of my room when I heard the first sounds of their approach. They were swearing and cursing, and there were sounds of some kind of fight going on; I must say, for a second I almost thought the elf had put on the Ring and was now steering my own army against me. Then the first uruk - hai came through the door, a heavy bruise building around his eye, and a strange limp on his leg. - He is here, master, he grumbled. But he is dangerous today... - I will not hear any excuses, I snapped from the tension of my fearful suspicions. Bring him in! Tie him down again. Not two, but four uruk-hais came in, bearing the struggling elf, one for each limb. He had fresh bruises and a few shallow cuts on the old ones that was fading since yesterday, and he was thrashing around like a wounded animal. It took quite some work just to get him in to the room, and I realised what a mess it would be to get him in the bed. Sighing, I grabbed my staff, and brought it down on his struggling body without really aiming. I heard the crack of bone; my stroke had hit him on the side and a few ribs snapped. That seemed to drive the air out of him, however, at least long enough for the uruk-hais to be able to tie him down properly. Once the ropes were firmly fastened, he seemed to sink down, resigned, but I did not trust the desperation in his eyes.  
The uruk-hais were still cursing elves when I sent them out. - That was unnecessary, I pointed out as I closed the door behind them. He did not bother to answer, just closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaws in an unrelenting way. - You do realise you will have to pay for this little struggle, do you not? He was so tense he actually jumped when I touched his swollen face, and followed the bruises with a careful hand. It was a bit disturbing; I had tried to think of how to get him to tell me about were he had hidden the Ring all day, but I did not seem to be able to get last nights adventures out of my mind. Well, that was not really a problem. It could be combined. -Where is the Ring, my fair one? Just tell me, and you will be free. That was a lie, of course, and he knew it as well as I, but the very point of torture is to let the victim believe that he has some chance of escape. Pain him long enough, and he will believe the most feeble lies. I stated to caress his beautiful body again, thinking of how I might never grew tired of the look and feel of an elven body, exploring every long, lean muscle, tasting the blood that had been spilled over his skin, even adding a little myself as I bit in to his shoulder - hard enough to draw blood and leave marks of my teeth that may never go away. His body involuntary tried to jerk away then, but otherwise he laid as still as a dead. Although not entirely. Once I got as far down as the lining of his trousers - which I had let him keep since I did not entirely trust the uruk-hais with a naked elf - it was obvious that my attentions were starting to get at him, whether he tried to hide it or not.  
That was curios, and one of the many things about him that had disturbed my thinking today. Slowly and carefully I folded down the trousers and got the satisfaction of seeing his hips involuntary move up slightly. Something was exciting him, but I still did not know what it was. Not that I really cared, but the agony of his face was a beautiful sight. As I started teasing him with hands and mouth, the recollection of making him do so to me in front of Gandalf and the others came back, arousing me even further. I turned him around. Enough of that, however pleasant the sight of his internal turmoil - whatever its source - was, it was nothing compared to this, even though he again shrunk away at the pain. The raw desire that gripped me when I rode him hit my libido with such force, it compelled me to go deeper and deeper, but the sight of his agony and pain as I pressed his face into the pillows were not enough; I wanted to hear him whimper and plead; I wanted to hear him beg. Beg. Yes, that would be the sweetest of all, would it not? I pressed my hand against his broken ribs, but when that did not work I hit it again, now with my fist. A sharp sound of pain came through his gritted teeth. Encouraged, I grabbed a hold of his hair, pulled it back so hard he was forced up on his hands and knees, and still his head was being pulled back. I do not know for how many hours I rode him so, forced on by the touch of his smooth skin against mine and the few cries of agony and pain that he could not hide.

I must have fallen asleep on top of him, exhausted and worn down, for when I woke up, our faces were so close we breathed the same air. Large blue eyes were watching me dreamingly, a soft warmth there that I had never seen before, a sense of love and obedience that for a moment gripped my soul. Then I realised that he was sleeping, eyes open as is the habit of his kind. He had escaped into dreams, brought up some old memory of love to let his pained mind rest in.  
It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen, and I realised then that I wanted it with all my soul. A jealous possession had awoken in me, and there where no reason why I should let it go. Sauron wanted the Ring; let Him have it. But the Ringbearer was staying with me. Maybe I could send some of the others; not the hobbits of course, He would never believe that, but one of the Men perhaps. That would-be king of Gondor would suit fine. But first I had to know where the Ring were, but there were no hurry with that either; Sauron could not possibly know that I had succeeded to capture the fellowship, and if He found out in a few days, it would mean nothing. Of course, it would take some work to get the elf the way I wanted him; to get him to look at me with that unhidden love and desire that made his face so soft now, but it was not impossible. Everyone can be broken, and both him and I had all the time in the world. All the time. I realised that I held something in my fist and when I opened it I saw a handful of golden hairs; I must have pulled them out with the roots ulled  
them out with the roots d my finger; they were ever as golden and full as the Ring of Power.  
Power. Yes, of course! So that was the answer to his little secret. I could not restrain myself, but stroke my hand over his face and hair, much as you might pet an animal. He woke immediately, and the look in his eyes changed at once. A flash of hate, and then repulsion, humility, fear, in an endless cavalcade. He tried to move away, but were held back by the bloodied ropes. - I know your secret know, I mumbled, caressing his lean back, enjoying the disgust that swept over him at my touch. It is power. You have been exposed to the One Ring to long, and it had got a hold on you. Power now excites you, to be at the mercy of something - or someone - stronger. If had not captured you, it would just have been a matter of time before you had totally succumbed to the Ring. The wave of raw, unhidden fear that swept his face then confirmed my guess.

It was by far the worst night in my life, the second night on top of Isengard's tower. Gimli had broken down at the very moment he came to his senses, and was now crying as if his heart was broken. It probably was. All of our hearts were, but apart from the dwarf we seemed to have settled into heavy resignation. We just sat still, watching the slow hours of the night pass by, unable to even try to find another escape, as Legolas had willed us with his last wish. When the door started to open, no one did anything but look up tiredly, awaiting the decision of whom would be the next one to be taken to the hell down stairs. The uruk-hais came in a lot more carefully this time, and they did not stop to brag; instead they just threw in a staggering figure through the door and slammed it shut. I was so surprised to see Legolas, standing rather insecurely as if he would fall over at any moment, that I did not first even react. In my mind he was already dead, and now he was here, even more beat up than last night, his face even more haunted and fearful, eyes dizzy as if had problems to concentrate on reality, but alive. Alive! Gimli gave such a roar of happiness that it woke us all from the feeling of unreality and before Legolas could fend him of, he had thrown his arms around his chest as far up as he could reach, and was hugging him hard, wetting them both with even more tears. A sharp pain flashed over the elf's face and he carefully but firmly removed the dwarf's arms.  
\- My ribs are broken, he explained tiredly. And please do not touch me. But he did not remove his hand from Gimlis shoulder, and I do not think he would have been able to remain standing without the support. Gimli was glaring protectively at the rest of us, warning us to get to close, but he did at least let Boromir borrow Legolas his cloak again. When the first joyful surprise had lessened somewhat, I could see that the elf was in an even worse state today. Hair seemed to have been pulled out with the roots from parts of his head, the skin around the broken ribs started to get black, and his wrists were raw from struggling against the ropes. There was an ugly bite mark on his shoulder, still dripping blood. He was swaying where he stood, apparently just a few seconds away from falling down. But the greatest change was in his face; the fear had deepened, self disgust marred his features. There was a new kind of desperation in his eyes and when he looked straight at me I could barely withstand the force of it. - Tell me it is safe, Mithrandir, he whispered with the voice of someone whom is vainly searching for light in the darkness. Tell me it is safe!  
Of course I did not have to ask what he meant; he would not go through this if not for one thing. - It is secret, I assured him wishing there were any other way I could ease his pain, It is safe. He nodded, a touch of relief softening his features, and then he slowly fell over and would have hit the hard stone if not Aragorn had rushed froward and caught him, letting him down slowly and covering the broken body with the cloak.

He stayed unconscious for half the day, his head resting in Gimlis lap and wrapped in the heavy cloak. When the sun touched noon he woke with a sudden startle that made him bolt up straight, shadows of fear darkening his face. Before anyone could react he had pushed the dwarf away from him, dangerously close to the edge of the roof. Wild eyed, he came on his feet, backing away, before he came to his senses and realised where he was. - Forgive me! he cried, fell to his knees to help Gimli up, but the dwarf, accepting his hand, just shook his head. - Do not ask forgiveness, not you, not here! What ever you have to do, you are saving our lives and more than that, and you should never have to apologise for that. Awe stricken, Legolas just watched him, unable to believe the all compassing forgiveness he had received. For half a second I thought he would embrace both the dwarf and his words, but then he sank back, and his shoulders slumped again.  
\- I do wish I could believe that.  
He rose up and limped over to the edge of the roof, standing still as a statue, still wrapped in the heavy cloak. He could have jumped then; none of us were close enough to stop him if he tried, but of course he would not. If he did, there would be nothing to stop Saruman from taking the Ring. We had all sworn to die in the defence of the Ring, but to go on living in the face of such uncomprehensible evil? Had anyone ever done such a sacrifice against the dark before?  
A small voice next to me made me turn around to se Pippin standing by my side, watching the elf with something close to fear. His very young, innocent face were twisted into fear ridden confusion. - Gandalf? He asked with a small voice. What...what is it really he has done? Or, I mean, what is it Saruman had done to him? I do not understand...  
He gave me a look of almost morbid curiosity, repelled and compelled at the same time. - Do you really want to know, Peregrine? I asked him sincerely. Do you really? We watched our broken friend, the fear that shone from his eyes, the way he seemed to want to withdraw from his own body, and finally a small shiver worked its way over Pippins back. - No, he said in a small voice. I do not think so. He turned around and went back to the other hobbits, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground and there were a new shadow over his formerly so sunny face. Pippins question, however, made me summon the courage that I had been trying to find, and I finally got up and moved over to Legolas, careful to make sure he heard me coming. Still, he startled when I moved up next to him. - I can not start to ask forgiveness for all of this, I said, meaning every word. I never understood just how evil Saruman were - I suppose I never wanted to understand that one of my own could do such things. - You could not know. He refused to look up on me, but there was an intensity in his voice as if I had touched a subject that affected him deeply. Sometimes...sometimes I suppose evil can be found at the most unlikely places. The words made me cold as ice; was he saying what I feared? - He is getting to you, is he not? I whispered. For a short while I thought he was going to hit me, and I know I would have deserved that; doubting him after all he had done. But then the heavy resignation came over him again, betrayed only by the short shakes that rattled his body.  
\- Not yet. Not yet. But Mithrandir...I do not know for how much longer I can resist. Do not ask more. I must face this alone.  
The infinite, soul wrecking sorrow in his voice made me turn around and leave before I could even begin to understand his words.  
When nightfall came, the uruks came to fetch him again, but this time there were not resistance. Legolas must have known that our eyes followed him as he let himself get caught without as much as a glance of defiance, for he tried to walk straight and with courage.  
I can not begin to tell how much it hurt me that he failed.

  * I will break you, I told him as he was once again tied down to the bed. Whether you tell me where the Ring is or not, you will never get out of here. I let my long fingers and nails scrape over his half-healed ribs, teasing the tender nerves on the bruised flesh, knowing that it must send whips of pain up his side.
  * Once I am done with you, you will not even want to leave; once I am done you will be my slave. When we first met you said you would never freely give me anything, but believe this; you will beg me to be your master. The influence of the Ring will make it even easier. I was not as unsubtle as to say right out that in surrendering the Ring he might resist for a little longer, but I could se that he understood it. He was tense as a coiled snake this evening, but he had not done the slightest move of resistance. I knew that the part of him that the Ring had twisted were already starting to look forward towards what he knew was coming. Not the pain, not yet, but that would come. This longing for submission was as good a start as anyone could hope for. I worked his body with all my skill that night, bringing him so close to the high point of climax as I could without crossing it before I did something - rake sharp nails across his chest, squeeze him far to hard, dig in my fingers in his broken ribs, and finally, when I could not hold back anymore, ride him hard and ruthlessly again - to bring his excitement down again before I started all over. He would learn to associate pain with pleasure, sooner or later, if that was the only escape he could find. When I felt I had done as good nights work as I could I sent him back up, but this time I had the uruk-hais bring up some food and water for the prisoners; although starvation might help to break them, I did not want my Ringbearer to be to weak of hunger to know what I did to him. What would be the fun in that? He should be conscious of his own slow defeat, and I wanted the others to know as well. I even made the uruk-hais bring up some extra water, enough to wash in. Lets see if he would use it or not.



When the food arrived, the hobbits threw themselves over it like starved animals, which did not surprise anyone, but I think we all hesitated a bit over the way Legolas started to tear at large pieces of bread, although of course his days and nights had been a lot more strenuous than for the rest of us, locked up in inactivity up here. There were meat as well, but Aragorn kicked it over the roof, and I do not think anyone would have eaten it anyway. Legolas did not look as physically bad this morning; there where only a few new bruises and some sharp but shallow mark of nails, but he had not said a word since the uruks lead him up, and his eyes seemed to cloud over with dark thoughts, just to be lit up with fear the next second. Some stable ground in his mind seemed to be shaking, and that scared me even more than the beatings had. The bathing water also made him react unpredictably. It arrived in large steaming bowls, such an unexpected gift that I think we were all baffled, uncertain of what this might mean. All but Legolas that is. As soon as he understood what it was the uruks had carried up, he flew into a fit of rage, such as I had never seen before, as far from his cold rage two nights ago as the sun is from the stars. Cursing and swearing, he started to throw the heavy barrels over the roof, spilling the warm, soapy water all over the stone, tears running down his face. Boromir and Aragorn rushed up and tried to hold him back; Aragorn got hit straight in the face and went wheeling over the roof, and Boromir only managed to escape the same by hair. Swearing, the man managed to get a heavy grip on the elf and wrestle him down.  
That was a mistake.  
Caught under the heavy weight of Boromir, Legolas went desperate, almost hysterical to get free. Sobbing and calling out curses in at least four different languages, he managed with the strength that comes from real fear to squeeze free, and stumbling he reached the end of the roof where he threw up all the food he had eaten over the edge. I do not think anyone of us dared to move, and the knowledge that the turmoil of emotions that ravaged us then was nothing compared to what he went through was no comfort at all. Even Gimli looked stunned, unable to find any words, or what to do.  
Finally, Aragorn got up, and went over to Legolas reaching out a hand for his shoulder. - Do not touch me! Legolas voice was almost shrill and hysteria still clung to its edges. Do not touch me! - We could use the washing water...Aragorn started hesitatingly; a large blue bruise was starting to form on his cheek.  
\- Pour it out once you done! Do not leave any for me to...for me to..., he started crying then, and of all the emotions I had seen him go through, I think this was the most frightening. - I can not win, can I? He asked without waiting for an answer, tears welling down his face. Leave the water Aragorn. Why not, after all? I might just as well be clean to please my master. - Master? The fear was clear in Aragorns voice, strangled and small though it sounded. - What did you think was going on down stairs? He almost laughed, without any trace of joy and without stopping the tears. You are just as naive as I was. Lets hope that you, at least, will stay that way. Aragorn turned and fled.

We did use the water; as Legolas had said, why not? We certainly could use it, after days without. Even the elf used it, after the rest of us was done. I do not know of he imagined that was some last shred of resistance, to wait until the rest of us had used it. If he did, it was a rather pathetic such, but sometimes you take what ever you can. He did however ask us to turn away when he washed, and that at least showed something healthy; he was not about to let us know for certain what had been done to him. It could have been a beautiful day, full of hope and promises; the sun was shining and the sky was clear, the wind and warmth dried us soon, and we were clean and had eaten for the first time in days. But it was not, and I started to doubt that any day would ever feel beautiful again, not now that we had learned just how close darkness could lie. And hope? Has it always been this rare?

It did take longer than I thought to break him, but it was much more pleasure than work, and to see that stubborn core of resistance slowly starting to fade away, bit by bit, gave me all the encouragement I ever needed. The first night he had tears on his cheeks from the agony of being torn between pain and pleasure was my first triumph, and the salty taste of the tears as I kissed them away was a sweet reward. After that came the night when we had fallen asleep again, exhausted after my nights work, and I awoke by him calling out my name in angst and need, his body betraying where his dreams had taken him. Ah, but the true measure of his slow submission could only be read in his eyes; there were still fear, but the hate seemed to have died away, and the repulsion was slowly getting replaced by yearning. There were times when I saw actual eagerness and desire in his eyes, and those were the days when I melted pain and pleasure in his mind, until one day he could no longer tell the difference. The first time he could not resist, when I had driven him too close to climax before I pushed into him and he spilled out over the sheets, the old turmoil of agony was clear in his face, fear and hate and repulsion, but his eyes were dim with desire.  
Of course, this was only the start, but it was an important step.

The changes that came over Legolas during the weeks that followed were frightening. The smouldering fire of resistance, the fits of rage and fear, even the request not to touch him, they all died away. He no longer carried very many bruises, the raw skin around his wrists started to heal once he no longer tried to resist the ropes, and he did not defy the uruks when they came to get him. If anything, he seemed restless and annoyed when they took to long, pacing the tower roof like a caged animal. At first I told myself it was because he wanted to get the night over with, but that excuse started to sound more and more hollow. At one time Boromir, going slightly desperate with the feelings of frustration and the paling hope that haunted us all, came straight out and accused him of actually looking forward to being abused, and when Legolas did not answer with anything but a rather lecherous smile, the man hit him, out of frustration and hopelessness. The elf must have seen the fist come flying, he most certainly could have stopped it or avoided it, but he did not. Instead he let the fist hit him, and tumble him over on the hard stone, but even as he looked up on the man standing above him, there was a glimmering of sick desire in his eyes, and an obvious excitement showing under his ragged trousers. Disgusted and shocked, Boromir backed away. The hobbits started to avoid Legolas after that day, and Boromir would not even recognise him when the uruks brought him up each morning, now more of an honour guard than any real guard. No one really expected him to try to break free again. Aragorn did not seem to know what to think, changing between fiercely protecting the integrity of Legolas against Boromirs accusations and giving the elf looks as if afraid he would kill us all in our sleep. I tried to stay clear of the entire thing, to uncertain of what was really going on to dare state any opinions. I did however stick to the old routine of telling him as soon as he came in through the door that "It is safe", even after he had started to ignore my words.  
Only Gimli stuck by him without hesitations, and I never did see anything but confident in his eyes, except possibly pain and rage over what his friend went through. But sadly, I do not think even he was very surprised when they stopped bringing him up in the mornings altogether.

I could actually tell the very moment that I broke him. He was practically shaking with pent up exhilaration as soon as the uruk-hais brought him down; his face was swollen from a hard punch, but the eyes where glimmering with desire.  
\- What is this, I asked, following the traces of a fist on his face; he almost pressed himself against my touch like a petted cat.  
\- Boromir hit me, he answered without a seconds hesitation. He said I was betraying them. Them. Not us. He no longer saw himself as part of the fellowship, then, and if this bruise was any measure, neither did they.  
I had him tied down, and removed our clothes carefully. He was responding to my every touch like my fingers were sending lightning through his body. I had barely laid my self on top of him, before he started panting heavy, his strong fingers digging deep into the pillow on each side of his head. - Please, he whispered, trying to press his body up against mine. Please...I need this... My heart started to beat faster, and not just from arousal. This was it, this was the breaking I had been working towards. I leaned forward, sucking gently on the tip of his delicate ear. That earned me a moan. - Please? You are begging me, then?  
\- Yes! I beg of you...master.  
The triumph I felt then was only surpassed by the look in his eyes; desire and submission, obedience and, most precious of all, a trace of something close to love. I almost granted his will there and then, but I kept my head clear. Instead I just slid our bodies together, touching him all over his length. His breathing almost stopped before it broke out in a heavy sigh. - And if I do, what will you do for me? - Anything you want, master! he moaned, Anything at all! - Will you give me the Ring?  
There was almost a smile on his face, as if all I wanted was this insignificant object, it was no sacrifice at all. - Of course. Anything. I will lead you to it. I untied the ropes on his wrists then, and the pain and pleasure we shared that night was not like anything I have ever experienced. He did anything I command, without a seconds hesitation, and the sweet submission in his every move almost makes me forget about the Ring again.

I have had new clothes sown up for him, my new pet, and I make him put them on the next morning. He is posing in them, basking in my appreciation, the will to please me burning in his eyes. Once I have looked my fill on his beauty, I pull him close with a painful grip on his golden hair, but of course by now the hurt only excites him.  
\- Now. Where is the Ring?  
\- I have it not. But one of the halflings do. I will show you. So I was wrong! He was not the Ringbearer after all, but that no longer matters very much; the Ring will be mine anyway, and once I got the power Sauron promised me, there will be nothing left for me to want; my life will be perfected. I tug his hair once more, just to hear him moan, before we leave together for the roof.

There is some turmoil amongst the prisoners when we arrive, the shock of seeing me again making them hesitate and fear, and they back away to the very edges of the roof. I brought three uruk-hais with me, just to be on the safe side, but from the tired, hopeless looks on the faces of the remnants of the fellowship, I doubt they will be needed. The hate from my old enemy is making this so much more pleasing, and the loathing in their eyes when they look at their former friend at my side is confirming my every hope. He is clinging to me like a leaf in a storm, but at my command he sinks down on his knees by my side, although he still has keeps an arm wrapped around my leg and the side of his face pressed against my thigh. Love and obedience is radiating from his face. - Him. He points at the hobbit who is trying to hide behind the others. He has the Ring. - Legolas, no! the cry of heartbreaking defiance from the dwarf echoes over the roof, but the elf does not even look away.  
Up filled with triumph, still I am not taking any risks; not this time. I let the uruk-hais move the others aside, leaving the tiny hobbit alone and helpless; as I suspected there is practically no resistance. Seeing their former friend at my leach must have broken their last hope. I start to walk towards the little Ringbearer, who is throwing desperate glances around for an escape. There is none, of course. I stop in front of him, and reach out my hand. - Give it to me, or I will take it.  
He obviously remember me using the same words from the last time he saw me; the same day I started breaking his friend, because he does not even hesitate. Wide eyed with fear he removes a chain around his neck, and dangling from it is the One Ring.  
I can feel my elf's arms around me from behind, closing around me; the sight of the Ring of Power must be as arousing for him as it is for me, and when I take the chain I wonder if I should not throw him down and ride him right here, in front of them all. Arousal and triumph wells up inside me, with the Ring in my grasp and the strong obedient arms around me.  
The next thing I feel is a sharp pain, and then darkness wells up on all sides around me and swallows me hole.

I knew we were lost at the very moment Saruman walked out on the roof with Legolas like a beaten but obedient dog at his side. The uruks no longer mattered then; I think our spirits were already to broken for any kind of resistance. And then all our fears came true when Legolas pointed straight at Frodo and named him the Ringbearer. I could not even begin to hate him. He had done all he could to resist, but it had not been enough. How can you blame anyone for that?  
We were pushed aside by the uruks, and like soulless sheep we just stood waiting. Legolas was clinging to Saruman, not even looking at the rest of us, but he was pushed back so that Saruman alone could claim the Ring. That did not stop him from grovelling up the wizards' back however. The submissive, pathetic yearn of his attention made me almost sick. I can but pray that I would never have to find out just what Saruman had done to him. First I did not understand what I saw, when the sharp red flower blossomed on Sarumans chest, not even when the blood started spilling out over on Legolas fingers, curled around the handle of one of his own daggers. Slowly, Saruman started falling backwards, into the elf's arms, still cradled around him in a lovers' embrace, but his eyes where already dead and the fingers holding the chain with the Ring was losing their grip. The uruks, with their backs towards the scene, does not know what is happening, not until the elven dagger cuts the first ones throat, splattering blood all over the roof. First now does the other two start to turn, but before they have time to cry a warning, the dagger is already deeply buried in the first ones neck, and the other one receive a blow hard enough to make him fall unconscious and after that is killed by a hard kick on the head. Frodo is the first one to react; he dashes for the Ring and holds it tight against his chest, but the rest of us just stares at Legolas, not able to comprehend what has just happened. - I hid the dagger under the pillows the first night he had used it on me, he explains, as if that was our greatest question now. He never remembered it again. His face is heavily marked by so many emotions, and the eyes betray the soulrendering turmoil inside him, but he is standing straighter than I have seen him in weeks, although he still does not meet any ones eyes. Suddenly he sinks down crossed legged, as if all the last remnants of strength has left him, just a few feet from his former master, but without as much as glancing at the body of the dead wizard. - For the fears and pain I have caused you all, I can just start to ask forgiveness..., he starts, but is abruptly interrupted.  
\- If you start asking for forgiveness now, I think I will kill you myself! Laughing like mad, Gimli rushes forward and embraces the elf, and this time he is not pushed away; instead he is fiercely hugged back. - Thank you. Thank you. You will never know what a comfort your friendship has been. Tears are running down both their cheeks, and I think it was the sight of them that released us all from our stunned hesitation.  
Laughing and crying we all tried to embrace him at the same time, and he accepted every one, even from a very embarrassed Boromir.  
\- I am really so sorry I hit you, the man stammered, but I did not understand... - I know, I know. It had to be done, to convince him. But lets not talk about it, not ever again. Our packing and weapons are in Sarumans room, a few stairs down. There will not be any guards there, not now. We can escape by the tunnels underneath Orthanc.  
That made us come to our senses, and we quickly started to move towards the stairs. Not until we reached them did we realise that Legolas were lagging behind. He was standing staring down over the body of Saruman, an unreadable look on his face.  
\- I will come, soon. He did not turn around towards us. Give me a second alone. - You will not do anything foolish? Gimli asked worried, glancing at the steep height around the roof. - No. Legolas smiled faintly. No, not anymore. Go now. I will be with you again soon.

We never did found out what he did, alone on the roof alone the body of the man that had caused him so much pain, that had done his best to crush his will and soul, and been so close to succeeding. In some ways he even had managed to break him, and the twisted ways that had been imprinted in the elf's mind would be just as painful to straighten as they had been to force on him, if anyone would ever manage it. Did he cut up Sarumans body, frenzied with rage and vengeance against what he had been forced to do, or did he leave one last kiss on the wizards cold lips? Whatever he did, it was some kind of closure, and with his friends around him, perhaps that will be enough. We must all hope so, but I once again find that hope is not so scarce as I once feared, there on the roof of Isengard.


End file.
